I Wish I May, I Wish I Might
by switchonlights
Summary: "Wishes are harder here: I can't give you what you want, only the resolve to get it."
1. Chapter 1

The day the girl appeared the sky was a flat grey hanging over the hills; she wanted to reach up and touch it. The rain had lessened, leaving the asphalt damp and cold under her bare feet. She looked down, hands running over the soft blue t-shirt and jeans, as if surprised at what the universe had clothed her in. Great green trees towered overhead, glowing in the grey light and she stared at them, wishing to be one instead. She reached for her memories to find that there were none. Only a residual fierceness lingered in her mind.

Tentatively, she takes a step, marveling at the wriggling of her toes. She wants to stop and sit on the ground, to pull her foot to her face and stare at it. She wants to look at the small half-moons at the base of her fingernails and feel the bones in her wrists, in her hips, up her ribs to her small breasts. Has she been like this before?

The trees slowly become interspersed with buildings: first a faded house, then more, than a shop with a sign - a proper town. A car chugs past, headlight foggy. She sees the driver staring at her; what does she look like? The sky grows darker as she walks, the headlights of passing cars brighter. The few people she passes on the sidewalk stare. She doesn't mind the stares, but she minds the cold a little, and her toes hurt.

She stops suddenly. There's a small grey building ahead of her with a sign glowing out gaudy yellow: _Mr Gold Pawnbroker and Antiques Dealer._ People seem to cross the street to avoid it; the girl walks in, not knowing exactly why she knows what a 'pawnbroker' is.

The shop does not give the warmth one would think. It has a sort of burgundy light, leant from dark wood frames and damask wallpaper. There are pictures, lots of pictures, and china, as one would expect. The girl sees seven globes with the shape of odd continents, and ships whose shape at least is familiar. The shelves are filled with every imaginable thing, but neatly kept; there isn't a speck of dust. She feels almost at home, though she couldn't tell you what a home is.

"Can I help you?" The voice that greets her from a back doorway is smooth. It matches the pin-striped suit and the deep-plum tie, but not the long hair and the crooked nose.

The words come automatically. "Um, I've come for my things." Her voice is a litter lower than she was expecting, and not soft like her shirt or the sky.

"What makes you think I have your things?" he steps into the shop, taking in her filthy feet on the rug.

She falters. "I…I'm not sure." Speaking has cracked some sort of seal inside her, and bits of personality are starting to leak out, but resolve and confidence are heavy, and will be the last to escape.

"Take a look around if you like." he gestures grandly. "Maybe you'll see something that catches your fancy. I'll be in the back if you need me." She nods as he turns away, then - just as suddenly - whirls back. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"I didn't say my name."

The corner of his mouth twitches with the impatience of someone dealing with a child. "Best keep it that way, hm? Call if you need help." He hardly disturbs the curtain as he moves into the back room.

She allows her fingers to trail over things as she moves about the shop. There is a lamp filled with burning sand, a music box overflowing with sunlight, but nothing that makes her soul quiver with remembrance.

_Why am I here?_ her heart jumps a little at this first conscious thought, as if she's only just remembering to have them. They come all at once then, ideas, strategies, light stepping through the shop window on its way from the day. The resolve makes its way from the hidden place into her mind. She resumes the search, taking in every item on every shelf. Something catches her eye after several sweeps: a pair of silver slippers.

They look old, ancient even, the fabric dull and torn. But she knows they are hers, knows how they will feel on her tired feet if she could only get them on. Kneeling on the carpet, she reaches shaking hands out to open the cabinet door; it yields a little, then clicks as the lock stops her.

"Excuse me?" she calls, voice shaking with excitement and desperation. "Excuse me, I need some help." She's almost all there.

"Are you all right, dearie?" Mr Gold asks, appearing from the back. "You're looking a little pale."

_You're looking a little pale._ The phrase wouldn't have made sense ten minutes ago much less when she appeared but now she knows the planes of her face, the straight nose, and high cheek bones. She knows that if she were to look in the mirror her cheeks would be flushed - she doesn't pale, she flushes.

"I need to see these shoes. Please."

He walks with the aid of a cane, but she hardly notices. Her eyes are on the shoes_._

"You'll have to move so I can open the cabinet."

There's the click of a lock and the door swings open. Greedily, she reaches out and grabs the back of the slippers.

She stares at them. They are hers, there is no doubt. They were her favorite; she would wear them with the dress he gave her as she danced. Silver, dyed by her own hand in the starlight of a winter's eclipse. A vain use of magic, perhaps, but she had felt she deserved it. She just doesn't remember what dress or what man or why she deserved them. She knows the magic still; the bit of fall wind sails from her stomach into the tips of her fingers and the shoes transform before her eyes.

"Well what about that," Mr Gold says slowly, but he does not seem surprised. "Those look to be your shoes."

"What are they?" They have laces, but they are not boots. Like slippers with graceful curving lines that would cover the tops of her foot. The silver color remains, bright.

"Trainers, dearie. Or sneakers as they're called here."

"They're mine," she says, scrambling up and clutching them to her chest.

"Oh, I agree completely," he says, "however, the law would not. You see, they are in my shop."

The resolve raises an eyebrow. "Quite certainly I could state their illegal acquirement."

"You're not from around here; my word is stronger than yours. No, I'm afraid you'll have to buy them."

She raises her chin and looks down her nose, not pompous but suspicious. "It would be well within my power to simply take them."

"But then I'd be obligated to contact the sheriff."

"And say what? A maid stole a pair of antique slippers? All I see in my possession are these…trainers."

"I could make your life very difficult, dearie."

"And I, Mr Gold, make a very formidable enemy." The words feel true coming from her throat, as if she's said them before.

_I must be very used to being no one, _she thinks.

"How about a deal?"

"I do not make deals." her voice spits out the last word.

"Then it seems we are at an impasse."

"No, I don't believe so." With a shrug, the girl turns and walks simply from the shop, out into the gathering twilight. The clouds have begun to clear, and stars are beginning to poke through the sky. As she sits to put on her shoes, she glances up, and feels them shine in the very pit of her stomach. The silver light fills her blood as they grow brighter and brighter. She leans her head back and drinks them in.

Cars begin to pass less and less, the hands of the clock meet at the twelve, and still she stares, watching the stars rotate above her.

_My sisters._

The heavens spin on.


	2. Chapter 2

The girl wakes in a cell, chock full of herself. Groaning, she sits; re-acclimating is never a pleasant experience. The cell is part of a larger room, a brightly lit office. Squinting, she reads the strands of universe running through the air, plucking them apart like a loosely woven tapestry, reading her location.

_Universe 234, Earth, standard 86, Storybrooke, Maine. _

Earth _again; _it's the the third time in two centuries she's been assigned to one of them.

But something catches her eye, lingering just under the threads, something dark and pliable, she reaches for it.

"Oh good, you're awake."

The voice breaks her concentration. A woman with a heart-shaped face and strong demeanor has entered the room.

"Hello," the girl says. She steps to the bars and leans on them, inclining her head cordially. "Are you to let me out?"

"Sure, just got to ask you a couple questions first." the woman sets a paper bag on the desk and shucks off her jacket.

"I suppose I fell asleep last night and you brought me in? It is illegal here to sleep outside, yes?"

The woman laughs. "Yeah, Storybrooke has a law against vagrants. Not that I think you are one, but job says-"

She smiles. "Of course. I understand completely. I should have known, but I was…disoriented."

"You seemed pretty out of it. You kept asking me if I wanted to make a wish."

"I'd hit my head fairly hard."

The woman gives her a look that is half-amusement and half-suspicion as she unlocks the door, stepping aside to let the girl through.

"Sheriff Swan."

"Hm…Marguerite."

"You got a last name Marguerite? I need to fill out a form."

"Alnilam."

"You don't sound so sure."

She just smiles again. "I must apologize about this, sheriff. You have my word it will not happen again." There is no inquiry about whether or not she is free to go, she just waltzes out the door, stepping as lightly in her shoes as if she were dancing on stardust.

_Marguerite is not a good name_, she thinks, stepping out into the bright sun. _Marguerite was rounder than I am now. Perhaps Clara? _

Yes, being Clara had been lovely; a softer version of her existence bathed in the sort of green sunlight that accompanies spring afternoons. There was the petticoats and sitting on a graceful piano bench, being taught the keys by a precocious child who would grow to woo the courts of Europe. But this was not a town for Clara either, with it's plain manners and blue trousers.

_Aspen then, _she decides. _I've never been an Aspen before._

No one would dispute the name fits her. She is tall and slim, with a broadness in her shoulders. Her hair is more wheat-y than yellow, but it still fits: an Aspen tree in the fall.

_Aspen Alnilam._ A smile of satisfaction flits over her face. _That'll do nicely. _

She returns to the store just as the man is unlocking the door.

"Oh hello. Have you come to steal something else?"

She laughs like the stars on a summer's night. "My truth, no. My purpose is three-fold, really: to apologize, to give you a gift, and to have a conversation. So firstly-" she bows elaborately, if rather facetiously. "I do apologize for my behavior. Earth always seems to knock me about a bit when I first arrive. It's the lack of magic, you know."

He holds the door open for her. "You don't seem to lack any magic, dearie."

"Tsk tsk tsk. That's the third part of the conversation good sir. The second part, as before mentioned, is a gift, a thank you, if you will, for your shop keeping my shoes safe. Without my shoes I truly would have never regained myself." Standing on her toes, she reaches out a slim finger to the top corner of the door frame. As Mr Gold watches, she draws a long, shimmering line across the lintel.

"What is it?" he asks.

"A mark. If any of my sisters are here, they will know this place."

"And now that I'm assuming we've reached the third part: who exactly would your sisters be?"

"I don't do deals, as I said before." she settles gracefully on the worn bench of a dilapidated up-right. Her hands go to her legs, as if in the habit of smoothing skirts, but then clench into fists. "But I do believe in tit-for-tat. I have questions, you have questions, it all works out fair."

"Indeed. So who are you and your sisters."

"Stars."

He regards her for a long moment, looking for the lie under her words, or even the half-truth, but there is nothing.

"As-"

"No." she cuts him off. "My turn. This town is inherently wrong. There's a curse here. What are the details of the curse?"

He grimaced at her precise wording. "It moved us all here from another land, stopped time, and replaced old memories with new."

"Hm. Except yours."

He considers his next question carefully. "What exactly is the job of a Star?"

"For me, it's to go where I'm sent and grant wishes as people make them during the night. My elder sisters are more, shall we say, large picture." She sighs and pushes hair back from her face. "This is tedious. How about I tell you about me, and you tell me about the town."

He settles onto a stool, cane still held before him. "A fair enough trade, I suppose."

"Well then, the easiest place to begin is with what you most likely already know: that there are a near infinite number of worlds, not just this one." She lets her finger trail softly over the keys of the piano as she speaks. He can see only her profile: the high cheekbones and long straight nose. "Some have magic, some do not, many are Earths, but many are other places. The only thing they all hold in common is our presence; all have Stars, and all wish upon them. For that is our job, you see: to inhabit the sky - which ever sliver you see - and too watch over the worlds. Most of my sisters remain in their orbs, I am one of the few of which I know who is sent out. I keep watch over a few sets of worlds: the Earths, the Ladns, and the Mincroses, going where'er there's turmoil or deep need. It's easier to grant wishes from the land, you see. So here, in this town, I may cover only the town, but time before last I was here, a governess Warsaw, I saw all of Eastern Europe."

"And all the wishes made on Stars, you grant?"

She shakes her head, returning to look at him. "No, but I hear them all, and I do what I can. Here it is easier to respond to them all, as I can't use obvious magic, only subtle things to change the paths of fate, perhaps make one easier to see. Mincros and Ladn it is more difficult, for I can grant a wish directly if I find them deserving, but that uses much more energy."

"Why you? Why do you move around?"

A smirk mars her face; she looks less ethereal and more jaded. "I'm like the goddess Selene before a counsel of Artemises. A whore among the righteous, or so they would like to think. A bed-warmer, they call me. But truthfully, I just fall in love too easily. So much of my life was spent so removed in the sky, that even after several millennium I become infatuated easily with interesting strangers. They take pleasure in jolting me away whenever I find someone I care deeply for."

"You've aged well," Gold says wryly. "Or is it an illusion?"

Aspen laughs. "I change a little from place to place. Last I was here was the great war, Marguerite I was called, in France, and I was shorter, a little plumper. The time in Warsaw, and my hair was a little darker, though I was shaped much the same as I am now. Most recently I was in Ladn, and I was a little smaller, but not much."

"What did they call you there?"

"I gave my name as Marguerite, but most called me Magpie."

"And what shall I call you now?"

"I've decided on Aspen. Aspen Alnilam."

"Alnilam. Is that a star?"

"Middle of Orion's belt. I take pride in being one of the most wished on Stars in your sky. Now you. What's your tale?"

Gold smiled, revealing his gold tooth; she had given away to him more than he ever would, and though it might now be useful now, knowledge was always power.

Aspen smiled back; she was not naïve, she knew his type, but there isn't much that phases a Star, especially one as earth-hardened as Aspen.

"Oh, it's simple really. We were living in the Enchanted Forest, and an evil queen cast a curse that brought us all here."

"Enchanted Forest?" She squints at the way the universe weaves around him, plucks apart the strings to see his veins underneath. "Oh, you mean the Grimms. Odd place that, so much contact with this world. It's unusual for so many stories to travel through. Who are you then?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

"Let's see, shall we? You'll soon learn not much is hidden from me, Mr Gold. Hm…Gold. Traces of magic are still in your weave, and obviously powerful, but for the Grimms that's not at all unusual. Give me a clue?"

"Afraid I can't do that, dearie."

She continues, unperturbed. "Likes to make deals…you forget I was a governess, I told these stories to children…deals, gold-" She claps her hands once in delight of discovery. "Rumpelstiltskin! There, now we are truly on even footing. I am right, am I not?"

He smiles cooly, anger in his eyes. "I'm afraid I have work to do."

"Oh, I am! Don't worry, I won't tell."

"Be careful of the mayor, dearie. Not a woman to be crossed." standing, he walks to the back of the room. She follows him with her eyes.

"Can I stay and play? I'm very good."

"Pardon?" he turns at the curtain to look at her. There's a childlike eagerness in her eyes.

"The piano. I'm very good at playing."

"No. I'm afraid you can't."

She does anyway. Working in the back room, he listens to strains of Chopin, chords of the early mornings and leisurely afternoons of springtime. She is very good, and he is sad she stops and leaves after only a few moments.


	3. Chapter 3

_She's good at dancing. This one ends in a swirl of silk skirts that rustle as everyone laughs and claps. _

_ "Magpie." the voice from behind is hot in her ear, the man's strong hands on her waist. She squirms. "My dearest, darling Magpie." _

_ "Stop it!" she turns as if in anger, but she's smiling good naturedly. _

_ "You are the most beautiful creature I've ever seen." he takes her arm and they begin to walk around the room. _

_ She glances slyly at him. "I'm beginning to regret the first time I smiled at you." _

_ He turns and kisses her nose so swiftly that all she has time to do is shriek with laughter. "Are you really?" _

_ "No, of course not." She looks down, red spreading across the tops of her cheeks, and onto the tips of her ears. He always makes her blush. It is not as if he is the most handsome man in the room; He is a little too broad for his height, his face more round than the narrow preferred by the court, but he's hers, and she adores him. _

_ "Elijah?" _

_ "Hm?" _

_ "What is the length of time we have to stay before we can leave without anyone else noticing?" _

_ He smiles at her, teeth white against the darkness of his skin. "Are you so desperate to leave? The ball's hardly begun!" _

_ "It'll be dark soon…" she grimaces at the memory of the first time she stayed past dark, and fell asleep with all the wishes. _

_ "No one will be wishing tonight, Magpie. Much to cloudy for that." Elijah swings her around as the next dance begins. He takes her hand, and very deliberately places his fingers in the gaps between hers. Their calluses match up from long days with hands wrapped around bow strings or leather grips. They stare at their hands, forgetting the steps. He's dreaming up rings, she's thinking of time. She's always thinking of time. _

_ "I love you, Mag." _

_ She leans into him, nestles against him to tuck her face into his neck while she still can. "I love you too."_

_ There is never enough time; within a week, her sisters call her back. _

Aspen wanders aimlessly as the morning grows in strength, then begins to wane towards afternoon. A diner catches her eye, and an inn, surrounded by a fence covered in greenery. It's lovely, and just where she needs.

"Just sit anywhere you like." the voice is cheerful as she pushes open the door. It's an 'all American' sort of place, but like no where Aspen's ever been. She takes in everything systematically: linoleum floor, the formica metal-rimmed tables. A boy sits alone at the counter, reading a book. Something smells delicious, but there's business to be done first.

"I'm actually looking for something," she says, turning to the speaker. It's a waitress with long dark hair and a bold face. Dark kohl lines her eyes. "I'm wondering if there's an envelope of some sort at your front desk for me."

"No one dropped off anything, sorry."

"No one would have dropped it off, at least not that you would have seen. It would have just…appeared."

The waitress regards her a little suspiciously. "Let me go check."

Aspen nods and settles onto a stool, leaning on her hand. The clock ticks out a few seconds before she tilts her head to look at the boy.

"The irony of me asking what you are reading," she calls. "Would be that you are no longer reading it."

He looks up, confused for a moment, then smiles a little. She loves that sort of smile, the one that's not yet afraid. But there's something else about him. She squints a little at the weave beneath the world; he's lacking the dark of the curse.

"It's fairy tales." his voice is quick, intelligent, hopeful. She loves him a little bit already, just like the boy Chopin who taught her to play.

"What's your name?"

"Henry."

"Henry, I'm Aspen." She slides to the stool next to him, sticking out her hand. He shakes it solemnly.

"You're not from around here, are you?"

"No. I just got here."

The waitress reappeared, an faded envelope in hand. "This isn't part of some crazy drug thing, is it?" she asks, handing it off.

Aspen laughs. "Thank you. No, a friend dropped it off for me."

"Well, you want anything?" she leans on the counter, un button shirt falling away to reveal a firey-red bra.

"Hm, I'm not so sure." she glances at Henry. "What's good?"

"They have really good fries."

She bites her lip sheepishly. "I'm afraid I don't know what those are."

They both stare, incredulous. "You don't know what french fries are?" the waitress asks finally. Aspen just shakes her head.

"Hey! Mark! We need an order of fries!" the waitress turns back. "I'm Ruby, by the way."

She just smiles, feeling perfectly optimistic.

"People don't come to Storybrooke," Henry says as Ruby moves away. "You're proof that things are changing." excitement colors his voice.

"What do you mean, 'changing?'"

He glances down like he shouldn't have said anything.

"I understand if you don't trust me. I am a stranger after all. So, these are fries?"

"I can't believe you've never had them before!" Ruby exclaimed, dropping the plate. "Where are you from? Mars?"

Aspen chuckles. "Oh, somewhere like that."


	4. Chapter 4

She sleeps in the woods that night. She does not mind even a little, not like humans who grimace at the damp or squirm in discomfort on tree roots; the world sees her for what she is and accommodates her. It's a clear night, and if a passerby were to push aside the ferns and stare down into the hollow between roots, they would see a girl cloaked in silver light, smiling softly in sleep as she arranges the roads of fate.

Henry makes a wish that night, staring out his bedroom window, clutching his book.

_Starlight, Star bright, first Star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have a wish I wish tonight. _He squeezes his eyes shut and wishes as hard as he can, not knowing he needn't think so loud; wishes are better than words at covering distances, and his Star is so close. _I wish Emma will help Storybrooke. _

Emma…Aspen shifts in her sleep, searching for the face to connect to those words, for the meaning behind them. _How to break a curse without magic._ Thoughts and pathways trail through her mind and she sticks them together like a child's game; it's hardly her strongest road, but it could be chosen. But there's no more time to dwell before another comes in, washing Henry's wish away as one wave does another.

She wakes with the grey wash of dawn, and lies for a moment in contentment, staring at the hazy outline of pine boughs above her. Birds chirp out their morning activities, and somewhere a deer moves through the underbrush. The tree groans around her; she's intruded long enough. She stands and steps through the barrier of ferns, brushing bits of moss from her hair. She still shines slightly, silver magic twining through her fingers, snaking back into her skin as the sun rose higher. In a moment she walks just an ordinary young woman, hair the color of wheat, eyes like old rainwater.

The woods thin, and her feet find the tarmac of a street criss-crossed with lines tar, stark black against the faded asphalt. There were houses, larger than the ones that grew on the other side of town. They were beginning to creak and warm in the sun; cars stirred and pulled out of driveways, headed into the town for work or school. One stood larger than the rest, glowing warm orange paint, but it was lonely. Homes are built on wishes and warm sunny days; this was just a house, up kept maybe, but empty and alone.

_My manners are all but gone,_ Aspen thinks as she pushes open the door. The boldness surprises her; she's used to the kind with court manners and smooth words, or the kind with low cut dresses, not with blatant disregard for social constructs.

The house is cluttered, but meticulously organized, everything behind glass or arranged on sideboards. Aspen 'hms' as she steps inside, examining the museum-esque decor. While most houses hum or sigh with discarded sound, this one sat in true silence, as if even the fridge had ceased its buzzing.

The soles of her sneakers make no noise on the rich carpet as she wanders about the room, not touching, simply looking. In the next room something catches her eye: a piano. Upright, honey colored wood, it sits irresponsibly by a window. The wood has swelled and faded under years of sun, but the keys are still cool, varnished only by a layer of starlight almost too thin for Aspen herself to see. She sits on the bench, hands going to tuck nonexistent skirts around herself.

"_Clara! Clara! I've written a song for you!"_

_ "Well play it for me, silly boy. What is it about?" _

_ "It's about the Stars, just for you!" _

She lay her hands on the keys and plays hesitantly. The first high notes are swallowed up by silence, but their successors ring out like starbursts, lingering in the air; there is no better cure for a wish-less house than the imprint of music. The song is high and trembling, delicate, rapid triplets played with both hands almost entangled. Then slowly, very slowly, the melody shifts to the left hand, which moves lower and lower as the right sustains high, syncopated chords. The melody slows, deepens, and becomes dissonant and fortissimo for the briefest of moments before fading to a close.

Aspen pulls her hands into her lap and squeezes her eyes shut. Her heart thrums too quickly; it combines with tears in her throat to make her feel as if she cannot breathe. It is a work of genius, that song, written by an energetic young man with a newsboy hat hardly covering a mess of red hair, still anxious to please his childhood governess.

"That was not Chopin."

She jumps a little at the voice, then turns to meet the eyes of Rumpelstiltskin, who stands in the doorway, leaning on his cane. "No, it is not."

"I didn't recognize the composer."

"A contemporary of Chopin, they were childhood friends. Aleksander Klosek." she glances around to change the subject. "I should have known this was your home."

"Yes and, uh, what are you doing in it?"

Aspen is not easily threatened by anyone; her melancholy demeanor doesn't change. "No one was here, the house was so…lonely. It lacked wishes, or hope."

"And what did you hope to accomplish by letting yourself in?"

"Warming up the insides. I did not know, of course, that anyone would return." She stands and pushes in the piano bench. "Perhaps my methods are a bit unorthodox, but you cannot fault me from doing my job. You should make a wish every once and a while; it's good for the soul."

"You don't do deals, I don't do wishes."

She gives him a long look, the kind that bends under skin and snakes into veins. "Hm. Well, good day Rumpelstiltskin."

He waits until he hears the click of the door before finding what he had returned for. Though he hates to admit it as he locks the door behind him, the air within the house seems a little less hollow.


	5. Chapter 5

"So what do you do?" Ruby asks. They're leaning over the classifieds during her break, though the help-wanted listings are sparse.

"Um…I'm a governess mostly, au pair. Anything to do with kids."

"Like a teacher?"

"I suppose. As a governess I taught. But only piano and French, nothing too fancy."

Ruby leans back against the counter. "Mary Margaret mentioned something to me about-"

"What did I mention to you?" The door closes, and out of the afternoon comes a rosy-faced woman with close-cropped dark hair.

"Speak of the devil! Mary Margaret, this is Aspen. Aspen, this is Mary Margaret, she's a fifth grade teacher here."

"Lovely to meet you." Mary Margaret smiles brightly.

"You as well."

They shake hands, Aspen deciding she likes Mary Margaret if only for her firm grip.

"I was just telling Aspen that you had mentioned Mrs Harris was leaving. Aspen's a teacher-"

"Governess," she corrects hurriedly.

"I was thinking you might need someone to take her place. Aspen says she plays piano, maybe she can teach music."

"Oh!" Mary Margaret's face lights up even more. "Oh, that would be fantastic! Mrs Harris is leaving to have a baby and we were just going to get rid of music class but the kids love it so much! I'll talk to the principal tomorrow!"

Aspen gives a consenting tilt of her head, then smirks. "I'm a little ethically ambiguous to be an instructor of young minds."

"How's it different from being a nanny?"

"Hm…that was several lifetimes ago. I was a little softer then."

"What have you done since then?" Ruby asks. "Anything scandalous?"

"Mostly traveled."

Ruby's eyes light up. "Where?"

"France. I was a cigarette girl in an old fashioned dancehall in Reims. I sold cigarettes, candy, gum. Flirted with the men?"

"Oh! Where they handsome? France…I bet the men were so romantic."

Aspen chuckles. "No, Frenchmen are not my type, much to confident in their ability to have women. There was a soldier though, an American." They lose her gaze for a moment as she stares into the past.

"What happened?" Mary Margaret asks.

"He died. Got shot in the trenches they say."

Neither of them even stop to think that trench warfare hasn't occurred for almost a century.

Aspen blinks the water away from her eyes and the enigmatic ghost of a smile resumes its place. "Anyway, that's neither here nor there; millions of boys died then, I shouldn't be so selfish as to mourn one. Then I almost married a lord, and then I came here."

_"Married a lord? _You can't just not elaborate!"

Aspen glances out the window, then back at Ruby's eager face. "Maybe some other time. That wound is still a little to fresh to probe. Besides, I have to go, it's getting dark."

"Where are you staying?" Ruby prods. "We're the only place in town."

"With a friend. Mary Margaret, it was a pleasure to meet you, please let me know about the job. And Ruby, if I get it, you'll have to help me shop for some more clothes."

Ruby eyes her. "I'll have to help you anyway."

Aspen laughs. "Have a good night you two."

"It was nice to meet you!" Mary Margaret calls as the door slips shut. "She seems…nice."

Ruby smirks at Mary Margaret's baffled tone. "My thoughts exactly."

The wind picks up as Aspen makes her way down the street. It bites at bits of her hair, lifting them around her face as if caught in a water current. She wraps her arms around herself; it is not a kind wind. Glancing up, she sees the Stars and shivers at their cold light; though some blink down with righteous indignation, most of her sisters are indifferent, or sorrowful at her exile. One, however, is blatantly hatefully: Seirios, the brightest of them all. Though humans fancy the Stars eons away, Aspen can see their closeness as she squints through the treads of matter. She can see the way space cinches around the Earth, including yes, the galaxies the humans observe, but the multi-dimensional, ever reaching sky as well.

She should be fast asleep somewhere, considering the few wishes that bump against her consciousness. But they are small things, a child's wish for ice cream, a fisherman's wish for a clear sky, and she brushes them away as clouds begin to roll over the sky, blocking out her sister's gazes and accompanying the wind. They are not the soft, benign clouds of a lazy day, but multi-hued oil paint on a canvas, whipped into peaks by impatient gods. There will be no more wishes tonight, not so long as the storm rises and falls.

Aspen's pace quickens; the woods will not due for a place to sleep tonight, and she does not wish to spend the little money she has on a room at Granny's. Besides, she feels the roads of fate she so often rearranges aligning for her.

As if on cue, a black sedan pulls up next to her, window sliding down.

"Need a ride, dearie?"

She leans down to peer inside. "After I broke into your house?"

"I'm prepared to let bygones be bygones."

"Really?" she arches her eyebrows. "I know men like you Rumpelstiltskin. You never let the past lie unless it is in your favor."

"I want to make a deal."

She shakes her head and stands to leave. "I already told you: I don't do deals."

"Perhaps," he slides the car along as she walks away. "deal was the wrong word. I've just decided I want you as an ally."

"Because I have magic?"

"Because I believe you spoke truly when you said you made a formidable enemy, and I've already got several of those."

She considers him for a long moment, then shrugs and climbs in. "I'll listen in the very least, though I'm not sure our methods are compatible."

"Concerned about my ethics?"

Giving a bark of a laugh she says, "I couldn't give a damn about your ethics; it's your morals I'm concerned with."


	6. Chapter 6

They sit in the car as the storm begins to roll around them. Lightning flashes overhead, its light diffused by cloud cover, followed by thrums of thunder Aspen can feel in her bones.

"I must admit I'm unsure of your sentiments," she says carefully after a lull in their conversation - or rather, Gold's monologue. "You're saying you wish to be friends."

"Yes, dearie. Friends."

She turns in her seat to look at him straight on. "Rumpelstiltskin, I'm going to say something and I want you to listen very carefully. Do not be deceived by my outwardly appearance; do not attempt to deal with me as if I were one of the young women you've dealt with in the past. You are not manipulating me as you think you are."

"I thought nothing-"

"Be quiet, I'm talking now. Despite how I may appear I am not an ordinary woman cowed by societal expectations, and as such men do not scare me. You are only a man, Rumpelstiltskin, a man who acquired power, and I have existed through too many eons to bow before that. Ramses did not scare me, nor Caesar or Charlemagne, and compared to the power they wielded you are nothing.

"With this in mind, Rumpelstiltskin, I will you to remember on very basic fact of my existence: the only exhibition of magic allowed by my elder sisters beyond wishes is defense of my person, and I never hesitate to defend myself against men who forget their position."

He does not doubt the power swirling in her rainwater eyes; the way she looks at him is something beyond regal, beyond pretension where pity and disgust mix with philanthropy. She is closer to a goddess than to a human in that moment. But he replies with confidence none-the-less.

"You won't find it so easy to kill me, I'm afraid."

She laughs, an airy thing full of righteous cruelty. "_You _kill, Rumpelstiltskin. You may rip out hearts, but we are not so cruel. One tug on the universal weave and you are not dead. No, you just cease to exist. No magic in the world can protect you from such a fate as that when we deem it so."

"Who granted you such a right?"

That melancholy smile crosses her face. "No one gave us the right, we took it. It is an arduous story, however, and for another time."

He contemplates her. "You are an odd creature Miss Alnilam."

"I am the product of fear, assumed moral superiority, and hope, not to mention my own principles and experiences. Any one would be a little batty."

"Oh, I'm not questioning your sanity, only your changes in demeanor."

"Ah, yes. Well, I feel I am allowed them after the lives I've lead."

"Is it so terrible? What you do?"

He waits a long time for her answer, rain drumming at the window. She smoothes her nonexistent skirts as she thinks.

"I enjoy what I do," she says finally. "It is what I'm meant for, seeing all the possibilities laid out, the paths that time could take - dimensions, you might call them - I'm good at arranging them. But it is very painful. I did not make the decision to love willingly, the Stars try to bar themselves against such 'unclean' things to prevent bias when granting wishes, but I could not help it. That first man I fell in love with through his dreams they cast me out to be with, to punish me. I was overjoyed at first but you humans are so fragile. I could have given up-" She clamps her mouth shut and begins again. "He died eventually. It has not ended since then, they enjoy jerking me away as soon as I care deeply. I love what I do, but it is hard caring for friends, lovers, anyone, only to be taken away." she flushes and glances away. "My apologies; such a simple question did not warrant such a burdensome answer."

"Surely true love could end such a torment?"

She shakes her head. "You humans, you're so optimistic - even you, even here. True love does not exist, and even if it does, there are things left to overcome it."

"Dearie, I've felt the affects of true love."

Her eyes turn on him, melancholy with hope. "And yet here you are, just as wretched as I." She opens the door, and the sounds of the rain intensify. Gold stares past her, watching the droplets bounce off the sidewalk. She smiles at him as he watches the rain, a true smile, a fragile thing. "Look there, you brought out the cynic in me. That's not very easy to do. It's a lot easier to bar your soul with anger than to give faith, but I try and do the latter as much as I can."

As she begins to clamber out into the storm, he falls back into his mind and grabs her wrist. "Tonight's not a night for anyone to sleep in the woods, even a Star."


End file.
